


For Lack of a Better Life

by AndreaLyn



Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 15:47:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2473706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the other side of the fence, there could have been another life for all of them. Could have, would have, should have been's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Lack of a Better Life

He should be wandering about in the woods, not a care in the world. He should be leading a safe life, tending to his hawk and scouting for tracks of animals to hunt instead of looking for enemies that wish to kill him. A life of peace, that’s what he’s supposed to want.   
  
He fires off three arrows in a row from the ridge of the land, staining his soul with another three strokes of blood.   
  
He’s not sure why everyone is so afraid of this man they talk of, this grim figure they call Death who they say walks through shadow with nary more than a frown.   
  
Tristan  _always_  smiles when he takes their last breath.   
  
***  
  
In the shadows of this other life, Bors has twelve children and not a one of them learns what it’s like to have their father ride out to battle, never knowing whether he’ll be returning home. In this version, they’ve all been appointed names and Gilly’s not so much of a good fighter as he is a smart student of the local doctor.   
  
Bors comes out of the shadows of this quickly when Number Six hits him with a good punch to his shoulder and grumbles for dinner because ‘Ma’s working and I’m downright starved.’   
  
“Settle down, you brats. You’ll all get some food.”  
  
And he’ll leave for the battlefield the next day.  
  
***  
  
Dagonet’s still captivated by this dream.   
  
He can’t quite let go of it, the dream lingering in his consciousness for whole mornings at a time, once lingering far into the afternoon like a creeping fog. It’s the strangest images that he can’t ever shake, this passing fantasy. It hits him like lightning when he’s at the tavern and sees Vanora sing to her littlest one.   
  
He dreams of a child, rocked to sleep in his arms. He dreams of a wife. He dreams of a  _family_. It never lasts. The cries of a babe always become the desperate wail of a dying man on the battlefield.   
  
The dream  _always_  evaporates like fog.   
  
***  
  
A beautiful Sarmatian wife.  
  
He shifts uncomfortably in his cot and stares up at the ceiling, sweat covering him. If, perchance, he had never come into this life, he would have gained memories, people he would have cared for. He would have found a woman and had a family.   
  
He tosses and turns in his bed, frowning when he can’t sleep.  
  
Sarmatia. A wife. A family. It’s everything he supposedly needs. He’s supposed to want a home. He isn’t supposed to wander about like this. He wipes his brow, flicking off tiny beads of sweat. He’s supposed to want those things, but he simply doesn’t.   
  
He settles, closing his eyes and trying to relax. “Galahad, shut up,” he drowsily murmurs, giving the snoring figure a shove.   
  
A beautiful Sarmatian boy. There’s a start.   
  
***  
  
Just a child, Galahad mutters to himself, mocking their expressions.  
  
He’ll show them. He could have been anything, really. He could have been an educated man, he could have been a surgeon, he could have been a farmer, he could have been a husband. He could have been a hundred other things if he hadn’t been shoved into this service. One day, he’ll be free.  
  
One day, he’ll be something else.  
  
Though, he’s not quite sure he wants to change his life so drastically. There are some things he’s not willing to give up. He’s proud of the life he leads and the nobility that comes with it.  
  
And Galahad thinks he may have fallen in love with Gawain.  
  
There’s no could have, would have, should have about that.  
  
***  
  
Lancelot has seen just the smallest glimmer of the possibility that he could have had another life. Sometimes, he catches his reflection and sees the look of a man who hadn’t been pressed into a life in hell. He envies the bastard in the mirror, the one who isn’t him and hasn’t had to endure a life of suffering and miserable days of death, each one taking more out of him than the last.   
  
Sometimes, he can hear his sister’s voice. When he looks into the mirror at the briefest of glances, he sometimes thinks he’s glimpsing into his father’s eyes. He wonders if his father would be proud of him.  
  
Mostly, he wonders if his father lived through his days in shackles as Lancelot does.   
  
***  
  
This is not Arthur’s life.  
  
His life awaits him back in Rome.   
  
His life is filled with seminars, with intelligent discussion and men who live in equality. His life does not include the killing of his mother’s people, nor does it require him to send boys to their death. His life does not include a stubborn bastard of a martyr who trails in his shadow, and yet his life contains such a Knight.  
  
Damn Lancelot anyway, damn him.   
  
Arthur’s not sure if he’s going to make it to heaven at this point. At best, he can only hope to make it into purgatory. What he really knows, what he knows deep in his heart is that the fires of hell await him.   
  
He’s sent too many to their deaths.  
  
He’s waiting for hell.  
  
And Rome burns.   
  
THE END


End file.
